The sun didn't rise out here.
It just appeared, a pale smear behind thick clouds, casting long, colorless light across the dead terrain.
Vael walked with purpose but not haste, boots crunching against brittle ground that cracked like old bones.
"You're pacing like a soldier. Not a survivor. Adjust," the voice murmured.
Every sound felt distant. Swallowed.
There was no life. No birds. No wind.
Just the pulse of the compass rune on his glove, beating steady as a heartbeat — guiding him deeper into Sector Twelve.
The Hollow Zone.
He moved alone.
No divine flare. No healing factor. No gifts.
Just grit, steel nerve, and the gear he chose to bear.
No weapon.
By design.
Hours passed.
Distance measured not in steps but in sweat, ache, and the subtle burn in his legs that told him he was doing this right — slow and steady, without shortcuts.
Then the rhythm broke.
Dust shifted near a stone ledge twenty paces ahead. A flicker of movement — too fluid for wind, too quiet for anything clumsy.
He stopped.
Lowered his stance.
Waited.
Then they came.
Duskfiends.
Three at first — sleek, low-bodied predators, gray skin stretched tight over frames built for ambush. Long limbs, too many elbows, and eyes like polished glass.
"They're not here to test you. They're here to end you. Treat them the same and die," the voice said, quiet and sharp.
They didn't charge.
They stalked.
Vael didn't move.
Not until the second group emerged from the other side — four more, pinning him between the rocks and a dried-out ravine.
"Seven," the voice noted. "You count like a killer. That's progress."
He didn't draw steel.
Didn't run.
He backed into the ravine wall, slid his pack off, and unslung the coil of arc-sealed rope from its side.
"Good. You're thinking. Terrain is your ally now. Your only ally."
He held it loose in one hand like a whip, the other slipping free a fire-start resin capsule from his coat lining.
The Duskfiends hissed in concert, lips peeling back to show rows of glistening teeth. Their muscles twitched in harmony.
They lunged.
Vael exploded into motion.
He spun wide, cracking the rope hard across the ground — not to strike, but to sound. The noise snapped through the ravine like a whip of lightning, disorienting the front pair.
"Noise is a weapon," the voice said, approving. "Let them feel doubt before pain."
The first jumped.
Too late.
He was already under it — jamming the resin capsule into its mouth and rolling free as the chemical burst alight.
The thing shrieked — high, stuttering, and furious as flame danced up its throat.
Vael spun again, catching a second by the hind legs with the weighted rope coil, yanking hard to drop it. He didn't stay on it. Just moved.
Used terrain.
Used chaos.
Another leapt from the side. He ducked low, slammed a rock into its temple mid-air, and twisted away before the others could converge.
He was cut.
Shoulder — shallow.
His breath rasped.
"Let it hurt," the voice whispered. "Let it teach. Don't waste pain."
But he didn't falter.
Three more circled, their pacing tighter now — uncertain. They'd expected prey.
They got something else.
Vael let them come.
No elegance. No style.
He moved like a machine built for violence and nothing else.
"If you flinch, you bleed. If you hesitate, you die."
One slipped in from behind — jaws open wide.
He drove his elbow back into its throat, grabbed its head as it stumbled, and slammed it into stone three times until it stopped moving.
Another clamped onto his thigh.
He didn't scream.
He drove the point of his belt hook into its eye and kicked it off.
The last one hesitated.
Wrong move.
He closed the gap in three steps and stomped it flat.
Silence returned.
Harsh, ringing, almost mocking.
"Still breathing," the voice said. "Better than most."
He stood amid broken bodies and twitching limbs, bleeding from four shallow wounds and a deeper one at the hip.
His coat was torn.
His left glove soaked in red.
But he was alive.
And more importantly — he was learning.
No Voice. No power.
Just pain.
And in the space that power used to fill, something else was starting to take root.
Something earned.
"That's the shape of discipline," the voice murmured. "Ugly. Honest. Yours."
He leaned against the ravine wall and waited for his breath to steady.
Vael scanned the clearing, searching for dry wood. He gathered brittle twigs, fallen branches, and pine needles scattered beneath the trees. His fingers worked quickly, fingers stiff from battle but steady.
He arranged the smallest sticks in a tight pyramid on the forest floor.
Striking flint against a hidden stone, a shower of sparks flew. One caught, blossoming into a tiny flame.
Carefully, he fed the fire, adding larger branches. The flames grew, crackling and dancing, casting warm light into the encroaching darkness.
Smoke spiraled upward, blending with the cold night air.
Next, Vael pulled out a worn canvas tarp. He stretched it between two low branches and anchored it with sharp rocks to form a lean-to.
The crude shelter rustled as the wind slipped through the trees.
Satisfied, he sank to the ground beside the fire.
The heat seeped into his chilled bones, loosening the tension that had gripped him all day. His breath came easier now.
The Voice stirred inside his mind. "This is your sanctuary, Vael. A place to build, not just rest."
Vael closed his eyes, focusing on the warmth, the crackle of burning wood, and the steady rhythm of his pulse.
Vael's eyes fluttered open.
The sun was sinking low, a fiery orb bleeding orange through the trees. Shadows stretched long and lean across the forest floor.
The campfire's glow flickered softly, casting warm light on his tired face.
He blinked against the fading daylight, feeling the heavy weight of exhaustion pressing down.
The Voice stirred inside him, calm and steady. "You awake."
Vael shifted on the ground, the rough canvas beneath him rustling faintly. "Yes," he whispered.
"How long have I been out?"
"A few hours. You needed rest."
Vael rubbed the soreness from his limbs, his muscles aching from where the battle had torn through him.
"I feel weaker than I thought."
"Your power is not meant to carry you alone." the Voice's tone was patient but firm.
"It is a tool, not a crutch."
Vael's gaze drifted upward, catching the darkening canopy. "If I can't rely on it... what do I have?"
"Your body. Your mind. Your will."
The words hung between them. Vael inhaled deeply, the cool evening air filling his lungs.
"I don't know where to begin."
"Start small." the Voice encouraged.
"Discipline is the foundation. It is ugly, slow, and unyielding. But it is yours."
Vael's hands clenched at his sides. "That power let me kill gods… and now I struggle with beasts." His voice faded, the rest swallowed by the crackling fire.
"A man who chose the harder but true path," the Voice said, calm but firm. "That choice is strength."
"And that is enough. Without your power, you are raw, but not broken. Build yourself up piece by piece."
Outside the tent, night crept forward, soft and slow. The stars began to prick the sky.
"Your eyes must stay open," the Voice whispered. "Even in sleep, dangers lurk."
Vael nodded, a flicker of unease rising inside him. "I will try."
He curled into a tight ball, the fire's warmth at his back. The weight of the day's battles pressed down.
Closing his eyes, Vael fought the pull of sleep, willing his senses to remain sharp.
The forest whispered around him, alive and waiting.
Darkness had settled fully now, thick and heavy.
After midnight fell, faint rustling grew louder near the fire's glow. Shadows moved carefully, drawn to the flickering bonfire.
Vael's eyes snapped open, senses screaming alert. He was surrounded on all four sides, the beasts closing in silently.
"They smell your fear," the Voice whispered coldly. "But fear is fuel—use it."
The creatures snarled, low and threatening, muscles coiled to strike. Vael's body tensed, ready to respond.
One beast lunged suddenly, claws slicing through the air. Vael dodged just in time, rolling away with sharp precision.
"Good reflexes," the Voice noted. "But they want more than speed. They want your weakness."
Vael swung his fist, connecting with a snarling creature's jaw. The beast faltered but quickly recovered, eyes burning with rage.
The battle erupted fiercely beneath the moonlit sky. Every strike echoed, a brutal dance of survival and pain.
"Your body remembers pain," the Voice said softly. "Let it teach you discipline, not fear."
Beasts pressed in from every side, relentless and vicious. Vael blocked and struck, moving with grim determination.
Blood and sweat mixed in the cold night air. He refused to yield, even as exhaustion clawed at him.
"This is only the beginning," the Voice murmured. "You must grow stronger—this night will be your lesson."
Vael gritted his teeth, fists steady despite the aching muscles. The fight raged on, raw and unforgiving.
The beasts circled tighter, sensing his fatigue. Their snarls grew louder, a terrifying chorus in the night.
Vael planted his feet firmly, breathing deep to steady his heart. Every movement had to count; one slip meant death.
"Focus," the Voice urged, calm and sharp. "Let your body move before your mind even thinks."
A large creature lunged with brutal force, its claws aimed for Vael's chest. He twisted, barely avoiding the deadly strike.
The Voice whispered again, "Control the chaos inside you. Your strength isn't only the crimson."
Vael's fists struck back with precision, finding weak spots between sinew and bone. The beasts faltered, but new ones emerged from the shadows.
Each blow was a lesson in endurance and strategy. Pain burned in his muscles, but he pushed beyond it.
"Pain is honest," the Voice said quietly. "It carves discipline into your soul."
Suddenly, a beast came from behind, fangs aimed for Vael's neck. A swift turn and a savage blow ended the attack.
His breathing ragged, Vael wiped sweat from his brow. The creatures hesitated, unsure now of their prey.
"Good," the Voice approved. "You're learning what it means to fight without the crimson flame."
The beasts regrouped, snarling their frustration. Vael squared his shoulders, ready to face them again.
The battle was far from over, but so was Vael's will to survive. This night would mark the first step of his true training.
The first pale light of dawn filtered through the trees. Exhausted but unbroken, Vael stood amid the fallen beasts.
His breath came in heavy bursts, body trembling from the fight. Every wound was a reminder of his resolve.
The forest grew silent, the threat finally passed. The crimson essence within him lay dormant, yet his spirit burned brighter.
The Voice spoke softly, "You survived the night without your power. That is progress."
Vael wiped the grime from his face, eyes scanning the clearing. The monsters' bodies were scattered, proof of his hard-won victory.
"Each battle shapes you," the Voice added. "Strength is forged in moments like these."
As the sun rose higher, warmth seeped into the earth. Vael felt a quiet hope swell within him.
He knew this was only the beginning. But tonight, he had earned his survival.
Vael took a deep breath, the morning air filling his lungs with a rare calm.
He looked toward the horizon, the rising sun promising a new day and new challenges.
The Voice whispered one last time, "This is your foundation. Build from it."
With steady steps, Vael folded his camp and moved forward, ready to face whatever awaited.
The crimson still sparked inside him, silent and waiting, as his true journey had only just begun.